


As the Dust Settles

by xoUselessLesbianxo



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Abigail and Jack appear, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Short Drabble, aftermath of death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-10-19 15:00:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17603525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xoUselessLesbianxo/pseuds/xoUselessLesbianxo
Summary: News of a friend's death reaches Sadie Adler, and she knows she must say goodbye.





	1. Sadie Adler

**As the Dust Settles**

**Sadie Adler**

Sadie stared down at the newspaper article in disbelief, the hustle and bustle of the dreary but charming town of Valentine moving all around her. She balled the freshly printed paper into a fist and jammed it into her saddle bag.

_John Marston, the last known living outlaw shot dead outside his own home at Breacher's Hope,_ the article read, and the bounty hunter had had to reread the heading twice. She knew the Old West was dying, had died as of the disbanding of the Van Der Linde Gang, but with the death of her most oldest and dearest friend it seemed to be all too surreal.

Sadie had never been one to be naive, and often viewed the world from a realist perspective rather than an idealist. Perhaps that was why she had grown to detest Dutch's ways in the end despite being taken in after the death of her husband. So she had been very much aware of the Old West's looming end. But with the sudden loss of one of her oldest and only friends it seemed to pierce straight through her cold and hardened heart, something that didn't happen all too often.

Sadie had heard whispers and rumours of the last of the notorious Van Der Linde gang members being hunted down and killed, the bounty on their heads so high that it was a wonder they were still breathing for so long. But one by one they all fell, no one knowing who had the guts or luck to take them all out.

So there she was, standing in the middle of the street in a town that may as well have been foreign with how much things had changed. It was still small in size, still only accommodating to the necessities of living. But there was also something that meshed in with the rest of the new world that made this place seem so unfamiliar.

Sadie wasted no time in mounting her horse as she kicked her boot into the stead's side, her destination her only focus. Time seemed to pass in a blur, and even as she reached the gates to the ranch she still did not slow down. Sadie yanked hard on the reigns, her horse practically skidding to a halt at the bottom of the stairs and within a split second she shoved the front door open.

A startled gasp sounded from down the hall towards the kitchen and just as Sadie was about to walk further inside the house Abigail appeared with a rifle ready to shoot. The bounty hunter recognised it immediately as John's repeater and then her gaze turned towards a terrified Jack who was standing just behind his mother. The gun instantly slid from her grasp and before she knew it she was staggering towards her, tears glossing in the woman's eyes. "Sadie I…" But there were no words left to say. The blood on the porch had said it all, the newspaper article true to its word. John had been killed, the last known living outlaw.

…

Sadie, Abigail and Jack sat around the table as the painful story was retold. With her emotions still so raw Abigail choked up once or twice, especially towards the end. And now the mystery as to who had killed Bill Williamson, Javier Escuella and Dutch Van Der Linde was answered, and honestly Sadie didn't blame him for it. She would have done the same thing in his situation, no questions asked. But the Government had caught up to him in the end and she knew that one day it could be her. Sadie wanted to kill them all, each and every Government official to avenge her friend's death. That constant familiar temper flared as she was informed on who had killed the reformed outlaw.

John had been laid to rest up on top of the hill right beside the silly old fool Uncle, forever overlooking the life and land he had worked so hard for. Abigail and Jack had stood in an eerie silence, quietly mourning the death of their loved one.

Abigail wiped away a stray tear as she finally finished the story, her grief and sorrow another burden she would have to bear. All they had wanted was a peaceful, simple life. But life as an outlaw had finally caught up, just as they had always known but dreaded it would. "I…I'm sorry for your loss. If it were up to me I'd already be out huntin' every one of the damn bastards down." Sadie husked, her voice rough just like her exterior. She would never change. Not now. But even the rough and ready Sadie Adler had to admit it would not only be foolish but a death sentence to even try to take on the Government.

The next morning just as the sun began to rise above the horizon, Sadie ventured out to the top of the hill where her fallen comrade had been laid to rest. She knelt down in the dirt, her face a mask of pain and regret. If anyone deserved a second chance at a better life it had been John. Arthur had even made sure of it in his final hours, one last good deed done. Both were bad men, Arthur more than John. But both had good in them, and had done good in their lives despite it not being enough to save them.

Sadie sniffed once as tears threatened to escape. She knew neither of them would like to be mourned, instead they would insist she live her life and never look back. In its place she would honour and remember them, both men close to her heart for the rest of her days.


	2. Charles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn’t expecting to write this, I really wasn’t. But I loved the idea of continuing this with the other old gang members reactions over the death of John.

** As the Dust Settles **

** Charles **

 

Charles dismounted his horse Taima as he arrived back at camp, reaching over to give her neck a gentle, thankful pat. He didn’t know how he’d hung onto this horse for so long, the age around her mouth showing with scattered grey hairs. She was loyal, an incredibly brave and stubborn animal, and he was gratified for everything she had bestowed upon him. He guessed she was lucky, to have lasted this long, but also liked to think it was his care for her that was the reason she was still here.

Charles reached for the buck on her rear and shouldered the carcass that would keep them all fed for another few days. The tribe had grown since leaving America, which meant he was now venturing out to hunt on a regular basis. But he didn’t mind, finding comfort from the strong animal under him and the mountains that now surrounded him daily. He counted himself lucky to still be very much alive.

Charles gracefully placed the buck on the butchers table, his skilled hands skinning and removing the innards of the animal before hanging it up to bleed out. No matter how many times Chatan their cook had insisted on doing this work, Charles refused, saying it was a medial task in which gave him time to think.

Rains Fall was beginning to come to the end of his life, the hardened years on this Earth finally catching up to him. His time would come soon but he only felt peace as he knew he’d see his son again in the afterlife. Charles had been asked, with the greatest honour, to take over in his stead, to fulfil the shoes that Rains Fall would leave behind and with tears shining in his eyes Charles bowed his head, dutifully accepting the privilege.

Charles washed his hands in the basin inside his tent and upon exiting he heard his name being called from Hotah as he hurried across the campsite. “A letter for you Charles!” He declared, clearly out of breath as he handed over the telegram. Hotah disappeared again and Charles took a seat beside the fire as his brow pinched together, silently wondering who would write him.

“Charles Smith full stop.

I am writing to inform you of the death of our dear friend, John full stop

Please know Abigail and Jack are doing fine full stop

I am with them at this point in time full stop

John is buried alongside Uncle who also didn’t make it full stop

If you ever find yourself down these parts, they are buried on the hill at their home full stop

-SA full stop.”

‘ _Sadie_.’ Charles gripped the message tightly in his hand, having to reread the words twice. His eyes slipped closed briefly as he was overcome with emotion. John was gone and buried. There were so little of them alive now. At least Sadie seemed to be doing fine, just as he knew she would be. That woman was a pillar of strength and he certainly wouldn’t like to get on her bad side.

Charles stood from the log, tucking the parchment inside his trouser pocket and headed towards Taima, letting one of the tribe know he was heading out. The Native urged his horse out and away from camp, needing time to think and process his thoughts.

…

Charles pulled in Taima’s reins, the horse obediently coming to a stop atop his favourite mountain, a quiet and serene place to think things through. He dismounted from her back and walked towards the cliff, sitting himself on the ground.

Charles had only one question, and that was how? How had John survived so much, being attacked by wolves, being shot off a train and then escaping the Pinkerton’s with the help of Arthur, only to end up dead. How had it all come to this?

John had deserved better. Abigail and Jack who wasn’t so little anymore. How would he turn out without a father? Abigail had done everything and more for that boy, but there was only so much she could teach him.

Charles remembered the moment he’d been accepted into the gang. It was the first time he’d felt like he belonged somewhere, the other members quickly becoming family. He’d always appreciated Arthur and John as brother’s, and now he was grieving for their loss.

Charles very rarely missed America, Canada suiting him far better than he ever could have imagined. But it was at times like these that he wished he were closer, to help in any way he could. Not that he would be of much use. Sadie was with them and for that he was grateful.

‘John was a great man, a criminal maybe just like the rest of us but he had a better life than most and a family to call his own. He will be missed.’ Charles’ eyes slipped closed as he internally murmured the words like a prayer, saying goodbye to his friend in his own way.

They were all outlaws in the end, even to this day. The Government wouldn’t forget, and neither would Charles.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if there’s any other characters you’d like me to do reactions to John’s death for, or even just small snippets of what they’re doing now after their time in the gang.  
> ~xoUselessLesbianxo~


	3. Mary-Beth

** As the Dust Settles **

**Mary-Beth Gaskill**

The fountain pen scratched and scribbled across the parchment, words flowing from her mind to paper in fear she might forget. Mary-Beth sat at her desk as she worked, the morning sun seeping in through the window beside her. She immersed herself in her writing, her own reality fading away to the world she’d conjured up inside her mind.

Minutes turned into hours, many pages written as she poured her imagination out onto paper. Upon gazing at the time, she realized just how long she’d been seated in the same position, her stiff joints and hungry belly evident. Mary-Beth stood from her writing desk and stretched, rather pleased with how much work she’d achieved. She poured herself another cup of coffee and grabbed a biscuit from the tin then headed outside to sit on the front porch.

Mary-Beth often missed the people she’d once called family, frequently reminiscing the days that were long gone. She hadn’t seen or heard from any of the old gang members besides John, who she’d happened to stumble upon at the Valentine Station and she particularly missed the other women in the gang. Tilly, Karen, Abigail, even Mrs. Grimshaw at times. However, she didn’t miss the screaming if she was caught by the strict older woman, having not busied herself with a chore.

Despite the sadness she felt at leaving them all behind her life had never seemed to full. Not long after settling in this very town, Mary-Beth met a kindly gentleman named Frank Coleman who worked at the local newspaper office. The two often took strolls through the gardens or went for rides along trails, Mary-Beth’s arms wrapped securely around Frank’s torso before arriving at their destination to indulge in a picnic. It was like she was living in one of her romance novels and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Mary-Beth decided to go for a walk after finishing her coffee and slipped on her boots and hat. The sun had a little bite, and once she was fully dressed she stepped outside into the warm morning sun.

Small chatter and laughter become louder the closer she came towards the town’s main thoroughfare, the call of the newspaper boy’s voice sounding above all. Women giggled as they walked in groups with friends, their skirts immaculate and their hair tucked neatly under hats. It was far from the life she’d once led, and for that she was grateful, this new life suiting her just fine.

Mary-Beth wandered towards the markets, a basket hooked over her arm as she studied the vibrant fresh produce. The voices were background noise, until one name in particular drew her attention.

“Did you hear that famous outlaw John Marston was killed outside his own home?” One lady gossiped, the words making the writer freeze where she stood, and her blood run cold, an apple still clasped in hand.

“Oh yes! Good riddance, the gang he used to run with was awful! What dreadful men outlaws are.” Another detested, her tone appalled as they continued to chat. But Mary-Beth was no longer listening.

A single tear slid down her freckle splattered cheek and she mournfully wiped it away. The last she’d spoken to John he’d finally managed to settle down with Abigail and Jack and lead a good life away from the dangerous one they’d both lived. That was four years ago now and she wondered of the circumstances surrounding his death. She hoped it was of natural causes but knowing their shared past she knew it could have been far more sinister than that.

Mary-Beth returned to her home, no longer feeling the hustle and bustle of the busy streets and bright sunny day outside. She shrugged off her boots and shawl before returning to writing her book, more determined than ever to complete it.

…

Mary-Beth finished adding the final touches to her latest romance novel, all the hours and proofreading had come to an end. She turned the pages until she was at the beginning, one last thing to add to the very first page.

_‘In dedication and memory of JM._

_Gone, but seldom forgotten.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I quite liked Mary-Beth in the game and found myself able to get into her head space. She was kind but also an impeccable pickpocket and thief. But to her friends she was the loveliest and most loyal person to have on side.


	4. Simon Pearson

** As the Dust Settles **

**Simon Pearson**

If anyone had asked him several years ago if he would own his own general store with a woman by his side he would have laughed in their face. It just hadn’t seemed possible, even if he was quite proud of his cooking abilities. Simon most definitely didn’t start out lucky, although some would say he was rather fortunate to have survived a plague whilst stranded out at sea for fifty days straight.

But cooking and butchering he could do, as no one had complained about his stew, not even when food was scarce, and he was reduced to gathering up carrots and cabbage with added herbs and spices to make a tasty enough soup. Those had been hard times, when they’d been trapped up in the mountains in an area known as Colter. Some might say it never got any easier from there on out.

But life had been kind to Pearson as of late and had granted him respect and love. Something he never would have thought would happen.

It had started out as simply running errands for the Rhodes general store, stocking shelves and cheerfully greeting customers. The town had damn near fallen as of the end of the Gray’s and the Braithwaite’s feud. But business was slowly picking up again, and it came time for the elderly store owner to sell shop.

Pearson had been working there for over a year by then, and the thought crossed his mind to buy the place himself. He was utterly terrified to walk into the bank to ask for a loan. Go figure he found it far more frightening to ask for money rather than be shot at by Pinkerton’s or O’Driscoll’s. Not that he’d fought much alongside the other men in the camp. But the camp needed a cook, and a rather good one at that. Some might have said he was good for morale, using his food as a way to break the up the day with his jolly and rather cheerful attitude.

As Mr. Pearson walked out of the bank no one could shake the grin off his face. He’d been accepted, and the next step was to fill out the paperwork. And just a week later Pearson walked into the Rhodes General Store not as a worker, but as a proud business owner.

It was around this time that he met his now wife, Martha, a local woman who happened to enter the store one day. It still puzzled Pearson how he’d managed to swipe up a wife, even if she nagged at him sometimes. Life was honest and simple, even if his life before was not.

On this particular day it started out as any other, a wagon was due in from a farm not too far from the Braithwaite’s old property and Pearson was set to load it up with enough goods to last a month. It was something he enjoyed about the job, being able to interact with different people. Although he was sure they were tired of hearing of his Navy days.

“Mornin’ Mister Gareth! The usual today?” Simon greeted the regular merrily, a jolly grin on his lips. “That’ll be fine Mister Pearson. How’s life treatin’ you?” The customer inquired as Pearson began to load the wagon with goods and supplies.

“Can’t complain Mister Pearson. Have you read the paper lately? Everyone’s talkin’ about it. You remember that famous Van Der Linde Gang that disbanded years ago? One of the members was killed at his own home. I think it said his name was Jake, no Jared, no John. John Martson that’s it! John Marston!”

The voice of the customer seemed to fade away for a few moments as his heart sank. John was killed at that Ranch he bought years back? He remembered like it was yesterday when John had walked into his store, considering he’d thought he was dead. And now he actually was, written up in the newspaper and everything.

If only people knew his association with the Van Der Linde Gang. Perhaps they wouldn’t be so kind.

Pearson swallowed thickly but maintained that cheerful smile as he waved off Mr. Gareth, even if on the inside he was saddened. John had been doing so well, so what were the circumstances that lead to his death? He guessed he’d never know.

Pearson walked back inside and behind the counter, his gaze falling to the photo of the gang as it often did. So many people in that photo had since died, so many good people who’d fallen to Dutch’s charming words and reasons. From Jenny, to Sean, then to Hosea and Lenny. Then Arthur, he’d always provided in the darkest of times. His eyes finally landed on John, that skinny good for nothing boy who’d grown into a man and found himself a family.

John’s cheek was still unmarked, this photo was taken before Blackwater and he remembered this day as if it were yesterday. They’d come across a camera on a tripod and asked a local to snap the shot, parading as a group of travelling companions. Although he guessed they had been of sorts, if you put aside the despicable deeds they carried out just to get by.

Pearson did rather miss the good times but knew the life he now lead was far better. He wasn’t alone, nor did he feel empty on the inside as he lived his life in denial. He was content for the first time in his life and that was good enough for him.

Martha called from the back, announcing the arrival of a delivery wagon. Mr. Pearson smiled gratefully at the photograph one more time, silently saying goodbye to an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To me throughout the game, Pearson seemed to look up to and appreciate the small family they had as a gang, even though he didn't participate in heists or robbery's.  
> But with his jolly and cheerful personality he seemed to bring morale up with his talent in cooking and his attitude.  
> Trelawny is coming soon!  
> Thank you all for reading!


	5. Josiah Trelawny

** As the Dust Settles **

**Josiah Trelawny**

Josiah Trelawny was not a selfless man. Nor was he one to be trusted with his slippery and grandeur personality. His self-centredness lead to hiding away a family in the middle of Saint Denis while neither ‘family’ had none the wiser.

In the early days of his alliance with the Van Der Linde Gang, he’d rather boldly announced that no one should worry if he ever suddenly disappeared, assuring them with his charm that he would return with invaluable leads and information.

Josiah knew a lot of things, things he shouldn’t know. And those things could quite possibly get him killed. Of course, he was a rather intelligent man and had escaped peril thus so far.

Trelawny needed the Van Der Linde Gang just as much as they needed him. His information seemed to be endless which meant so was his position in their ‘family.’ It was sometime afterwards that he met his wife and settled down, their family growing with two more, both boys named Tarquin and Cornelius. Needless to say, their names were just as sophisticated as he was. Or rather, pretended to be.

Josiah continued to keep one secret from the other, not wanting to drag his family into the disarray that was an outlaw gang. And to keep his current place in the gang, they neither knew of the other life he led when away from camp.

But Josiah could see days of the Van Der Linde gang coming to a close, their glory days or bank robbery’s and heists soon coming to an end. He liked everyone, and no one in particular as well. Each member had their good and bad attributes. But as he watched Arthur cross through the middle of camp towards him, his eyes zeroing in on the packed bag by his side he knew this was it.

The truth was, maybe Josiah had intended on returning, perhaps his excuses not a lie as he spoke with the dying man. But the more they talked the more he realised how right Arthur was and without a second glance he had disappeared, just like one of his magic tricks.

Josiah’s first point of call was to retrieve his family, knowing he had to distance himself from the law and the once notorious Van Der Linde Gang. He spun them all another web of lies, making them believe he had another business opportunity within another city. Boston seemed like an ideal start. It was big enough and far enough to hide from his past misgivings and if all went well his family would be none the wiser.

So they traveled by train, using Trelawny’s cut from the Gang’s earnings to fund his big move into the City and by god he was gobsmacked by the vastness of it all. With its large industrial estate, coupled with the hustle and bustle of the busy streets, he was sure Saint Denis was half its size.

It didn’t take long for them to find more permanent lodgings than a hotel, Trelawny using his wits to find them a decent sized apartment. It was similar in size to the one in Saint Dennis, but this was had three bedrooms rather than two. _What a score!_ He thought internally but knew they wouldn’t get very far if he didn’t find a job.

Of course, Josiah Trelawny being who he was, it took him no longer than two days to sight an opportunity and snatch it up like an eagle’s talon to a rabbit. By god there were some stupid and naive people in this city. He guessed he would never change his ways, once a conman, always a conman.

So that was how, after so many years of rubbing shoulders with the City’s most elite, he was sat at the table, newspaper and tea in hand on his back patio as he enjoyed the afternoon sun. It had been rather cool in Boston as of late, so the rays on his face with the warming of his tea was quite welcome.

Voices from the street below reached his ears as he turned the page of the daily newspaper, the cup almost falling from his hand as he read the title.

‘ _Famous outlaw John Marston shot dead outside his home near Blackwater.’_ The article’s heading read, and underneath it was a photo of a rather dead looking John. _So that’s what happened to Johnny Boy._ Josiah mused, his eyes studying the write up on the ex-outlaws death.

Josiah Trelawny didn’t particularly have friends, mainly because he did not trust anyone he came into contact with aside from his family. So, to hear the news of John’s death didn’t especially stir up any feelings or emotions. It had been a job, a temporary arrangement that saw his family were fed with a roof over their head and clothes on their backs. Nothing more.

Mrs. Trelawny appeared from the door and Josiah quickly moved to tuck the newspaper away from prying eyes. God forbid she ever come to realise where he had gone all those times of his disappearances.

“Hello dear. Why you are looking very fine this afternoon. Perhaps a tea would do you well?” He greeted his wife with endearment who smiled and thanked him for the offer before taking a seat beside him.

His family would never know of the life he’d lead before, would never come to realise his association with the once notorious Van Der Linde Gang. And that was precisely how he liked it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good old Mr. Trelawny. What a selfish, cockroach of a man. I didn’t particularly like him but have to say it was fun to write him in my own words.  
> Feel free to leave any prompts for anymore characters reactions you’d like to see   
> I have a surprise story which may not be part of this theme of finding out about John’s death but will be posted as a separate piece.  
> Thank you all for reading once again!  
> ~xoUselessLesbianxo~


	6. Tilly Jackson

** As the Dust Settles **

**Tilly Jackson**

Tilly sat in the parlour, a servant making the finale preparations for their visitor that was due in around mid-afternoon. With her almost five-year-old toddler Hazel settled down for an afternoon nap, her foot tapped excitedly against the luxurious carpeted floor.

Tilly was the happiest she’d ever been. Mingling with some of City’s most rich and famous compared nothing to the joy she felt towards her loving lawyer husband and daughter, living the most extravagant life she ever could have conjured up inside her mind.

What made it more enjoyable was that she still saw Mary-Beth on and off and had done since the fall of the gang. She missed them all so terribly, Karen, John, Arthur, Sadie. Even hellfire Mrs. Grimshaw and Mr. Pearson and his cooking. Her servants prepared all their meals now after all. But at least she still had her best and most loyal friend.

A sound of pure joy escaped her as Mary-Beth appeared in the doorway, right on time as predicted. She pulled her in for a delighted hug and was held at arm’s length. “Look at you! You look incredible!” Mary-Beth exclaimed, thrilled to be seeing her best friend again. _Sister_ again. They would always be family.

“So do you! That dress looks stunning!” The two took their seats and tea was poured into cups before the servant for the afternoon quietly left the room with a grateful ‘thank you’ muttered in earnest from the lady of the house.

As it so often did, the conversation turned toward reminiscing of the old days, and how far they had both come. Both inhabited the lives they had always dreamed of, even if it was a far away world to the one they once knew of robbing, thieving and gunfights.

Tilly mentioned the Marston’s, and again expressed how thrilled she was at the life they’d all created for themselves. John had looked in good health the last time she’d seen him just a few years back; she was pleased that he was alive and well. However the smile soon slid from Mary-Beth’s face at the mention of the Marston’s and dread immediately replaced the happiness Tilly had felt mere moments ago. “When?”

The writer looked down at the gloved hands splayed across her lap as she spoke, her eyes becoming watery with unshed tears. “A couple of months ago. Killed outside his home. Did you know he bought a ranch for Abigail and Jack to live in? He was doing so well too…I heard someone talking in the streets.”

Tilly hung her head in sorrow, silently mourning a fallen friend. Tears of her own took hold as she placed her hand comfortingly on Mary-Beth’s arm. “He did good, getting out and starting over. We all have. I just feel so sorry for Jack and Abigail. Perhaps I should write them with my condolences…” Tilly mused, wiping away the few tears she allowed herself to shed as she sniffled softly.

“Did you know Uncle was staying with them? I can’t believe the old badger is still alive.” Mary-Beth quipped, an attempt to not let the gloom hinder their visit.

“I can.” And with that the grief was swept away and replaced with a room filled with giggles, both knowing just what Uncle was like. Of course the old coot had survived, he always did after all.

…

Tilly waved from the front doorstep as she watched Mary-Beth board the waiting stagecoach, her chest light and full of joy. It was times like this she seemed to appreciate the new life she now led the most, particularly when a small sliver of her old one came to light.

It was dark by the time Tilly had ventured back inside to dine with her family, her husband politely enquiring of Mary-Beth’s health and well being. He was unable to attend afternoon tea as he had been caught up at the office, only having arrived moments after his wife’s friends departure.

“She’s just fine. Working on a new book but she wouldn’t speak a word of its contents.” The amused smile that followed from her husband filled her heart with delight, once again reminding of how lucky indeed she was.

They continued to dine in comfortable silence before retiring to the parlour for a night cap. The nursemaid made her presence known a while afterwards, announcing that Hazel was dressed and ready for bed. With a gentle squeeze to her husband’s hand she excused herself and made her way towards their child’s room.

 Tilly took a seat at the edge of Hazel’s bed, reaching for a book to read which was to lull her into sleep. It was a routine Tilly had insisted upon, remembering Dutch teaching her the same way. She often wondered what had become of that man, and despite Tilly leaving without a trace she still recalled the hours he’d spent educating her on things such as reading and writing. Tilly wanted that same opportunity for Hazel and intended on sending her to the best school the city had to offer.

“Momma? How did you grow up?” Hazel asked suddenly with curiosity, Tilly just having read her a story about a child living in the jungle with wild animals. The question stumped her, but only for a moment. She decided to try her best to explain.

“I grew up with some people who looked out for me and took care of me just like the animals in the story. Some protected me just like they did for George.” Tilly smiled tenderly as she pulled the blanket higher, tucking in her daughter for the night. Her only wish was for Hazel to never know or experience the world she herself had grown up in. No painful loss or renegade gangs roaming dangerous lands.

Instead she explained as best she could and with a kiss to her head and the lamp switched off she retreated back to her own room, her husband already in bed. Tilly changed into her night clothes after bathing, letting down the fancy braid she had always favoured. When she looked in the vanity mirror sometimes she didn’t recognise herself but that was okay. She may not be the person she was before, and perhaps one day her husband would know about her dangerous past but for now she was content.

Tilly examined the bookshelf and retrieved the new reading material Mary-Beth had gifted her as a present. Her latest book had only just been published and already she was working on another. The ex-outlaw settled in bed with the light cast low, her husband needing to rise early the following morning and in which was already snoring away beside her.

Tilly opened to the first page, scripture of dedication evident in delicate writing and she lightly traced the words with a fond smile.

_‘In dedication and memory of JM._

_Gone, but seldom forgotten.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It pains me to think that back then communications were so difficult, and to often not know when or how friends and family pass away. For example the fact that they’d learned Uncle had survived after leaving the Gang, but not knowing that he’d ended up dead while defending their home.  
> Also another side note, I realise that George of the Jungle most likely wasn’t around in 1911 but it’s a story that most resembles the Gang’s circumstances with Dutch taking in those who need a home.  
> Thank you all for reading!  
> ~xoUselessLesbianxo~


End file.
